


AWOL

by Lulzy (likelolwhat)



Series: For the Love of a Meme [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, Lazy Dragonborn, Minor Character Death, Realistic Time Constraints, Skyrim Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likelolwhat/pseuds/Lulzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constanus the Dragonborn doesn't live up to his name, and Avulstein is Not Amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AWOL

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I have to make up a new Dragonborn for every prompt I fill.
> 
> De-anoning from the skyrimkinkmeme, [this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4580.html?thread=8551652#t8551652).

Avulstein huddled against the side of the cliff, cursing Constanus’ name. He was supposed to be helping him, but the man was nowhere to be found. He should have known that manic, sly Imperial bastard with the flashing grin — hardly who anyone would’ve expected the Dragonborn to be — would go skipping off into the countryside and forget all about him. Crazy as a skooma addict, that one. Come to think of it, he probably was a skooma addict. It was the eyes: too damn bright and shifty.

Talos damn him, Avulstein would strangle Constanus with his bare hands if they met in Sovngarde. Except they wouldn’t, so Avulstein was left crouching against a rock, freezing his ass off while his stomach ate itself. The Thalmor patrols had doubled since Geirlund and Vidrald had been caught; driven mad by hunger and despair, they had launched an assault on Northwatch Keep four and a half weeks after the date they were to meet the Dragonborn came and went. He was still missing in action now, another week later. Avulstein was both resigned to die and determined to haunt that failure of a hero for eternity. He could not sneak away and go home, not with the goldskins on alert, and his food was gone. He thought of his poor mother, dying of grief as it was with Thorald captured, and shivered. She would never survive hearing — or not hearing — of him as well.

It was growing darker. Avulstein propped his battleaxe with easy reach and made to settle down for another hard night. When morning came, perhaps he would make a break for it, but he couldn’t see a damn thing in the northern night, deep into Sun’s Dusk as it must have been by now.

He closed his eyes, willing the pain in his stomach away. His hands didn’t hurt as much anymore… strange.

A scream pierced the air, and Avulsteins eyes snapped open. It was hardly any use — total darkness came so quickly this far north — but he flicked his gaze around anyway, trying to figure out where it had come from.

The lights from the keep were barely visible in the distance through the trees, but more appeared, one after another. Some were yellow like lamps, some brilliant white like magelights, and they bobbed up and down as if carried by Thalmor hands. Yells and the ring of steel sounded from somewhere off to the right, along with a strange noise like hiss of a drenched fire. Then came the buzz-hums of magic going off, and Avulstein was already hauling himself up and gripping his battleaxe. Someone was attacking the Thalmor. He had no idea who would do that, this deep in Imperial territory and against an entire fort full of witch-elves, but it was surely Divine providence… if they were friendly.

Avulstein stumbled through the forest towards the flashes of fire and lightning now streaking through the air, his limbs stiff both from the cold and not moving much in the days before. He was close when there was another scream, cut off at the end, and the fire-spouts stopped. Now the lightning-wielder was left, and from what Avulstein could see through the trees they were backing up as they cast.

He broke through the treeline, into the cleared area around the fort, just in time to see a shrouded figure, swinging two waraxes with the kind of ‘skill’ that would be comical in any other situation, pounce on the robed Justiciar who was spraying lightning. The mer went down with a _whump_ and a choked moan.

A ways off, a woman was kneeling over the body of a footsoldier, doing something with him that Avulstein couldn’t quite see, but thought rather looked like she was whispering in his ear.

The bumbling warrior came over, and there was something very familiar about that bouncing gait even though the Nord couldn’t see his face. “Aww, Serana,” he said, voice slightly muffled. “Are you really that hungry? I could’ve gotten you a live one…” he trailed off, noticing Avulstein.

For his part, the Nord was gaping open-mouthed, having finally realized who the guy was and — perhaps of more immediate concern — what the woman was doing.

“Oh, hi. Do I know you?” Constanus asked, face still hidden beneath the mask though Avulstein would know that overly-cheery voice anywhere.

“You— you— what in Oblivion are you _doing?!_ ”

“Umm…”

Avulstein stalked towards the Imperial, not caring a bit that the man was armed and, though hardly a pro with an axe, capable to taking down a fortfull of swarming Thalmor as part of a twosome. “You fucking bastard! It’s been over a month! What was so important that you just left me up here to get killed?”

“I’m, er, sorry? Uh, Avery, was it? No, that can’t be r—”

Avulstein could no longer speak; it took all of his control not to smash his fist into Constanus’ face and keep punching until Alduin destroyed the world. Though, maybe that was what he had been doing… maybe the Dragonborn’s lateness could be explained by saving the world. He took a deep breath, his chest tight, and said, “Did you kill the Worldeater yet?”

Constanus did not answer for a few seconds, which told the Nord all he needed to know. _Oh gods_.

Avulstein turned around, unable to look at him anymore. Or he would do something he would regret for sure. Or maybe not regret, but… His eyes alighted on the woman, Serana, still with her face buried in the Altmer’s neck. She pulled back with a squelch as he watched, vaguely disgusted, and settled back on her heels. Her mouth and cheeks were covered in blood, fangs peeking out from under her lip. She regarded him coolly with crimson eyes.

Constanus piped up then, sounding nervous. “Well, I have been busy with the Guild and had to solve a murder — several murders — and return some items and I saved Dawnstar from nightmares, that was fun, and then I, er…”

“Decided to gallivant around with a fucking vampire instead of rescuing my brother like you promised to do? Promised my _mother_! Are you out of your mind, man? A _vampire?_ ”

“He is out of his mind, though not for that reason. I’d like to think I keep him in line,” murmured Serana, but Avulstein ignored her. He rounded on Constanus again. “You’re not even here to help me now, are you? You just happened to stumble over me, and would have happily left me to starve or be tortured to death!”

Constanus flinched. One gloved hand came up to tug his mask down, revealing the beardless face currently twisted in a sheepish expression. “It was an accident, yeah. But hey, I’m here now, right? I’ll storm the castle with you, rescue your brother and stuff.” His eyes were still twitchy, and gleamed overmuch, but Avulstein had long since realized that it was less nervousness over a particular thing or situation and more a constant high-strung mania. _Sheogorath would be prou_ d, he thought sourly.

“Except that Thorald is probably dead by now, or been moved at best.”

“Do you want me to help or not?” Constanus cried, sounding more confused than he should have been.

“Talos’ balls, man, this is your fault! I was ready to go last month!” He stabbed the Imperial in the chest with a finger. “And now,” he bought that finger up to point at the keep, “after my friends try to go ahead without your sorry ass, now you show up? You’re lucky I’m not— you know what, forget it. I will strangle you to death _after_ you help me at least find Thorald’s body.”

“That is very comforting,” said Serana mildly. Avulstein couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. As long as she wasn’t trying to eat him, he didn’t mind her presence. That was the extent of his desperation.

Apparently, Constanus, for his part, had reached a conclusion about her tone. “Seraaaaana!” he whined. “I thought you were my frien’, don’t do this to me.”

“Idiot,” Serana grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Come on, let’s get this over with. And then you are helping me, understand? No running off again chasing butterflies.”

“That was one time!”

~

The keep was empty, as everyone had turned out to battle the incredibly inept Dragonborn and his vampire sidekick, but Avulstein’s footsteps echoed in the stone corridors and kept them on alert anyway. Strange, that. Serana not making a noise wasn’t all that surprising, but when he’d met Constanus in Whiterun all that time ago — a lifetime, as far as he was concerned — the guy had been as loud as an entire legion of Imperial soldiers all by himself. He didn’t walk any different that Avulstin could tell, either.

They wound down into the dungeons, meeting approximately zero resistance. There was one wizard snoring like an avalanche in a bedroom off of the main row of cells, but Avulstein’s axe swung down and split him — and the bed — in half without him even waking up.

Thorald was nowhere to be found, though they did find Geirlund and Vidrald. Both of them were long dead. There were other prisoners, too. Though alive, it was only in a sense: all of them were raving madmen and women with not a scrap of humanity left. Avulstein caught Serana swearing under her breath when their hopes of anyone to rescue were dashed; each were put swiftly out of their misery. He hadn’t thought a vampire would care. She was an odd creature to be sure, but that didn’t mean Avulstein was going to stick around to satisfy his curiosity, oh no. Even if she was rather attractive…

“Hey, there’s someone up ahead,” she said, stopping as they trekked down yet another corridor. She’d been trailing a ways behind Constanus, who was in turn behind Avulstein; they’d agreed to this arrangement due to the vampire’s superior senses to protect their flank, Constanus’ flighty nature, and Avulstein’s massive axe (which made walking in anything more than single file dangerous). The two men glanced back to find she had cast her detection spell again, one hand held aloft. She was looking through solid wall ahead and to the right. “Looks like a prisoner. Chained up, I think.”

They wound around to the cell, which was set away from the others. The rusty and moss-grown gate was hard to see in the dim light of the wall-torches, and they’d passed it several times, trying to find the entrance, before Serana determined that the smell of live human was strongest in that vicinity. It wouldn’t budge, and Constanus couldn’t find the lock (not that it would have mattered anyway, the gate was so overgrown), so Avulstein had the honor of kicking it down. It broke off its hinges with a screech of metal and clattered onto the wet stone floor of the cell. If they’d missed any goldskins, the bastards were definitely onto them now with how the clamor echoed in the hallways around them.

Avulstein took a torch from the wall and peered into the dark, cramped space. It went deeper than it was wide, but he could just see the rough shape curled against the far wall when the torch’s light flickered. “Thorald?” he whispered, though he was unsure why.

No answer.

Slowly, Avulstein advanced through the rough-hewn doorway, holding the torch up to ward off the all-encompassing darkness. Light revealed the body in stages: first, it illuminated a bony foot sticking out, then crawled up an emaciated calf before hitting the burlap garment covering the prisoner’s waist and thighs. Avulstein came closer, dread and hope struggling within him.

Finally, the man’s torso, head, and arms were revealed all at once. A mop of white-blond hair — lighter than Avulstein remembered — covered the bowed head, slumped with both arms chained to the wall above. Avulstein knelt before the man, handing the torch back to Constanus, who had entered the cramped cell also, and gingerly lifted the chin with shaking fingers.

As Avulstein’s fingers touched his skin, the man awoke with a start, the chains rattling.

It was Thorald.

~

_A month later_

Constanus strode into Whiterun with all the swagger of a man who was utterly unaware of how hated he was. The Alik’r warriors camped outside the gate glared at him as he walked past them, humming the tune of “Ragnar the Red”. Adrianne Avenicci tutted and shook her head when he passed her shop; he had strolled off in the middle of learning how to sharpen a dagger, taking the lent weapon with him. She would have complained to the guard, but the man was a Thane (somehow), and besides, it was just of iron. She wasn’t out that much.

Carlotta Valentia, on the other hand, broke off from haggling with Ysolda and pointed an accusing finger at Constanus as he made a beeline for the Bannered Mare. “You!” she shouted. “You’d better be going in there to talk with Mikael like you promised me three months ago!”

Constanus froze and turned, a sheepish look on his face. “I…um… yes! Yes, that was what I was doing. Of course. Been terribly busy, you see.”

“Too busy to return Thorald to us?” came a rumble like a thunderhead from the top of the stairs to the Wind District. Eorlund Gray-Mane stood there, hand twitching towards an axe in his belt (Skyforge Steel, of course)

“Oh, shit. Yeah, I rescued him last month. He and Avulstein went into hiding. As I said, busy.”

“Busy. Busy?!” Eorlund growled. “Too busy to come back and tell my wife before she died of heartbreak?”

Constanus was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Francine? She’s dead?”

“Fralia! Her name is — was — Fralia, you bastard!”

Guards were converging on the scene. One of them approached Eorlund while the rest formed a wall around the Imperial or held the crowd back. “Come on, kinsman,” said the guard who’d gone to the smith, “calm down. Nothing good will come of attacking the Thane.”

“Nothing good, but Fralia must be avenged. It’s his fault she’s dead, the layabout.” The Nord still looked murderous.

“Eorlund. _Go home._ Let us take care of this; the Jarl’s justice will be done.” The guard and two others split off to escort the grumbling man to his house and make sure he stayed there. The rest, gathered around Constanus, parted to let the Captain of the Guard through. “Thane Constanus,” Caius said, “come with us. Jarl Balgruuf requests your presence.”

“Requests? I’m afraid I’m busy—” Constanus was looking shifty again, eyes bright.

“It’s not optional,” Caius snapped. “Come along quietly or I will haul you there in chains.”

Constanus sighed, defeated. “Fine, fine. I’ll come.” He threw his hands up and started off to Dragonsreach, the mass of guards moving with him. The citizens of Whiterun booed him as he left.

~

“Constanus of the Imperial City, I hereby strip you of your Thane title and banish you from Whiterun Hold. Do not come back. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Jarl Balgruuf stared down at a quailing Constanus for a few seconds, then waved his hand to the guards and proceeded to completely ignore him. “Take him to the Falkreath border. With any luck he’ll go back to Cyrodiil and _they_ can deal with him.”

“But I’m the Dragonborn, dammit!” Constanus wailed as he was marched away.

“What was Akatosh thinking…?” Balgruuf said, just loud enough for the Imperial to hear, before the doors of Dragonsreach slammed shut.


End file.
